


It's Complicated [Parksborn AU]

by DeanDehaan



Category: Parksborn - Fandom, Spider-Man - Fandom, The Amazing Spider-Man 2
Genre: AU, Drinking, F/M, M/M, Self harm kinda, this is horribly sad im going to make you cry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:17:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1730834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanDehaan/pseuds/DeanDehaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where everything is the same but peter isn't spiderman. Harry needs Peter, and Peter needs Harry, but it's complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chicago Nights

_Its times like these that you know who you need and why you need them. You know what they would say, what they would do. You can imagine it all in your head. But some nights, when your head is going to explode due to all the bad things in your life, the imagination isn't enough. Tonight is one of those nights._

The phone rang twice, the receiver picked up just before the third. His voice was groggy, he was sleeping. 

"Harry? Its 3 in the am why are you calling so late?"

"Its 2 am Peter. I need you."

"Are you expecting me to fly in and see you right this instant?" _Sarcasm. Always laying it on thick._

"If only Peter. If only."

"What are you expecting me to say, Harry? What is the problem?"

"What isn't the problem. I need to hear your voice. I can't do this anymore, I need to be back in New York. I need to be near you. I need you" _Aspirin. 900 milligrams of Aspirin. That can fix the throbbing._

"I'm sorry man, I'm so sorry. Whatever it is, it isn't your fault okay? Remember that. You're gonna be okay Harry I promise alright? When are you going to come up?"

"T-tomorrow. Im gonna catch the first flight or train or something anything. Gotta get outta Chicago. Gotta, gotta see you Peter..." _Dizzy. So dizzy. Chase the aspirin down with a shot. Two. Three. Spinning its all spinning._

"Harry? Harry are you hearing me? Harry don't do anything crazy please okay? Fuck Harry please." _Pleading? He was pleading. Its always no crazy. I can't help it. I can. I probably can. But I'll say I cant. Can't control, can't fix anything. All my fault._

"Yes crazy, no wait I mean, shit!" _Tripping, stumbling, words falling off the rope are all I can manage._

"How much, how many. What did you fucking take Harry?!" _Disappointment. Ah reminds me of family reunions. Not like I'm invited anymore._

"Thr-three. Three blue ones. They remind me of the river. Remember the river? You taught me to jump the rocks. I'll never be as good as you. And then some scotch. Do you know how bad scotch tastes? It looks lovely though. Its the color of your eyes. I could get lost in it. Just like your eyes Peter-"

"Harry please no more please. Sleep okay? Sleep. I will see you tomorrow or today, whatever. I will call you if you don't let me know where i can get you tomorrow. No more drinking. Promise?"

"I don't make promises. You know that."

"Just this once Harry?"

"No."

"Then do me a favor?"

"I can do favors."

"No more drinks or pills tonight or tomorrow Harry."

"Ughh! What are you Peter my mother!"

"Fucking go to sleep Harry." 'Click' the call ends. Just like everything else. I didn't even get to say how much I loved him. How. Rude. 

_No drinking. No pills. Peter really didn't say no razor blades. Or did he? Did I miss it? Eh well probably not. No one ever thinks of razor blades. ___

__Im a collector. I've got countless of the same red thing, just piling up until there isn't any space. But then things start to overlap. Gets a bit messy. I look around the empty room, I look down at the filled up space. I really am starting to think i like red on me. I know i wont tomorrow. My vision is going blurry. My head and throat burn. My lungs are light. I hope they stop working._ _

__But instead my eyes do for the night._ _


	2. New York skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gonna make you cry. Thats the goal here.

Buzzing sounds. Alarm clock. Asleep in my clothes. Push the clock off the dresser. Still buzzing. Unplug the clock. Buzzing stops. 

Roll out of bed. Head throbbing. Hangover. Look down at the pillow. Blood splotches. A little bit too bad this time. Decision that I don't care. 

Rush to the bathroom. Splashing of water on my face. Once over of my teeth with the toothbrush. Good enough. Grab the toothbrush toss it in a backpack. Grabbing some jeans, pulling down of some shirts. Check my watch. 

6:30 am. Translation-7:30 New York. Send a text to Peter.

> hopping on the 7 am flight to ny. Flying . I'll be there at 8 

Run out of the house with my bag im calling for a cab. It arrives as I toss on my leather jacket. "Need a ride to Midway Airport in O'Hare."

We arrive. Check my watch. 6:45. Run to get a ticket. Use the old bastards credit card. Get the ticket, rush to the gate. Last to board. A row of empty seats. Thats odd. 

Check my phone. Message from Peter.

> I'll pick u up. Don't pull any stunts. 

Put the phone away. Buckle up. Ask the flight attendant for a cup of coffee. Black. It is absolutely disgusting. But stronger than I can be, so it's needed. I take it down slowly. Thank the attendant. Try not to barf.

The flight arrives. Grab the backpack, leave the plane. Search. 

There is is standing with his camera. Holding a piece of paper that says **HARRY OSBORN** in his horribly hard to read chicken scrawl. He's such a nerd, It makes me want to smile. 

"Peter!" His attention snaps to me, I can see the relief in his smile. He holds the camera up to take a photo. I look down at my feet but I can't stop smiling. I sense him take the photo anyway. _I hope he hangs it on the wall._ I rush in his direction and throw my arms around him. I feel his arms wrap around and pull me close. 

"I missed you."

"How was Chicago?"

"Horrible. The old man drove me up a wall. I wont ever go back" _Gripping tighter. Holding on. Don't let go. Please don't let go._

"I'm so sorry Harry." _Struggling. He's struggling. I can hear the rasp in his voice._

I lay my head down on his shoulder.   
"Can we please go home?"

"Yeah come on. We can talk on the way home." He wraps his arms around me. 

He drives us back to his apartment in his old rickety car. 

"What's the damage?" _Concern. Worn on his face like a mask he can't take off._

"Nothing, Peter. I'm fine. Really." _Blanken my face. Stare out the window. Denial_

"Harry." _A rush of warmth,_ I feel his hand holding mine, catching it along with my attention.

"Peter please-"

"Take off the jacket." _Should have known that he would know._

"No, your car is freezing." 

I watch him raise his eyebrows. I watch him roll up my sleeve. I watch his mouth fall open. I watch the disappointment play on his face. 

"Peter, I'm-I'm sorry, I didn't, please don't be mad at me Peter I'm sorry!" _Heat. Rushing heat. Familiar sting of tears. I can feel them rushing toward the punch. Hate. So much hate. So much stupidity. What have i done?_ I'm falling apart in his passengers seat. I watch as his eyes flip between the road and myself. Not good. Not good. I'm mumbling sorries, pleading for his forgiveness. _Don't hurt me, please._

"Harry!" His voice penetrates my frantic worries and echoes through the rickety old chevy. "Harry calm down okay? We can talk about this when we get home okay we'll be there in a minute." 

His hand falls to rest on my knee as we pull in behind his building. I close my eyes. The tears are running down my face. Horrible. I feel fucking horrible. It all feels fucking horrible. 

"Harry calm down okay? I just... I just want you to calm the hell down. I'm not mad at you, Harry. I can't be mad at you okay? I care about you Harry, I just want you to stop okay?"

"I-I can't, I can't just stop! It's so hard Peter I can't do it anymore!" _You cant wash blood off your hands. You can only bury it in a layer of skin. Thats all I know. Vision gets blurry. Eyes sting. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Hiding. Gotta hide. Gotta run. The door wont open. Pushing on the window-_

"HARRY!?" Arms wrap around me. Stopping me. Holding me down. Keeping me warm. "Harry calm down. We gotta get you inside." He pulled away my bag. I watched him walk around the car to open my door, and pull me out. Tears still in my eyes he half carried, half dragged me inside.


	3. New York Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What am I doing. Im just here to make everyone sad with this. Please dont hurt me

Peter took me inside and made me a cup of tea, and gave me a blanket. I couldn't stop crying. I really wanted to but I just couldn't. The salty streaks rolled down my face slow but behind my eyelids they crashed like waves. I sat on his kitchen floor, mug in hand, sobbing over the warm beverage. 

It was a gloomy day, now raining. I was always one for the rain. People say rain makes everything grow, but really, rain makes everything stop. I tried to focus on the rain to keep my mind off of it, or at least stop the uncontrollable sobbing. 

"Har, do you want to talk about it?" Peter was pleading. "You-we don't have to if you aren't ready. I just don't like seeing you so upset and broken. It hurts me to see you so hurt. I want you to talk to me, I'm not going to leave you I swear. You know I could never hurt you, _please Harry_." 

He looks so sad. I hated seeing him sad. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. The tears aren't as bad as they were in the car, but I was still crying and sniffling. If only I had the words to fix it. If only I had some way of telling him everything. But it's hard. _Its hard to try to breathe when all you can do is choke on the air thats thicker than smoke, that suffocates you when you open your mouth to say the things that need to be said. But it is so god damn hard to say what you want to when you have so much to hide away._

"I-I-I'm sorry Peter. I am so so so so sorry I-It hurts. I can't-I can't do it." I put down the stupid glass mug and curled into a ball on the floor continuing to choke on my stupid, useless tears. Peter sat next to me, it seemed like he didn't know what to do. 

I felt his arms picking me up and holding me into his chest. It wasn't hard to pick me up. I'm probably the scrawniest 21 year old there is. 

"It's okay Harry. It's gonna be okay, alright? I'm here and I'm gonna make this okay." I huddled close and just tried to breathe. It was so hard to breathe. 

"I'm so tired of it Peter," I couldn't really speak, it came out more like a whisper against his neck. "I just want to feel better."

"I'll make it better. I will Har, i promise." Peter held me closer, he was warm, and he smelt nice. And it helped; it was soothing. "Let it all out. Tell me everything, okay? I won't hurt you Harry."

"I can't go home. I can't. Not now not ever. I-I can't. He's horrible Peter. It hurts so fucking much." More whispers. The rain was louder now. I could hear the cracking of the thunder. "He's drunk. He is always. Always so drunk. Messed up. It hurts. It hurts me. He hurts me. I can't do it. I won't do it. I won't go back."

"You aren't gonna go back Harry. I'm not going to make you. You can stay here okay? You are going to stay here." Peter kissed my forehead, and I felt him run a hand through my hair. I'm so tired. I can feel the sleep creeping up at me. 

"I want to be here. I don't want to go anywhere else. I need you Peter. I need you so badly. Please-please don't hurt me. I-I need you Peter." I somehow speak through a sleepy haze of anger and despair. With the wishes that everything would just get better. Somehow. 

_The tears are almost gone. But they are still here. The sniffles are gone. But the rain is here to stay._


	4. Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sad. Its all too sad. Sorry for the long wait.

I really couldn't tell you how long we sat on his kitchen floor. I couldn't tell you how many hours I sat crying into his chest wishing I could feel better. I couldn't tell you in words how bad everything felt. Not because I cant remember, but because I don't know how. 

Like when you go to the doctor with stomach pains, and they ask what kind of sensation is it, and you cant even explain it. All you know is it hurts beyond words, but they don't quite get that. If you talk to someone whose felt the same they get it, but if its never happened to someone, they wont understand. 

I can tell you I woke up crying in Peter's arms, on Peter's bed, under a blanket, my wrists bandaged, my face tear stained, matching Peter's tear stained shirt. He was asleep, and I really didn't want to wake him. 

I felt like a horrible person. I knew I wasn't worth his time, everyone knew and always had that I was an unstable wreck. I don't know why he put up with me, and tried to help. Nothing ever helped, everything always hurts. But it was an appreciated effort, even if I didn't have the words to say that. 

Well I did, but I love you probably wasn't important to him, not from me at least. Peter was the someone I just wished would be there forever, and walk with me to the ends of the earth, but I know he wouldn't ever want that too. Sometimes you really want something to happen and it just wont, as in ever. This was one of those things. 

So I just laid there in his arms. I hoped that I wouldn't cry again as much as I wanted to. I just held tight until I fell back asleep. 

Of course there were nightmares but there always are. But for the sake of trying to be a little less of a horrible person, I said nothing of them. I didn't need Peter to worry about that too. I didn't want him to worry about me, I never wanted or intended for anyone too, but he did, far too much. If I disappeared it would be better for him, he didn't need my constant depressing attitude. 

Some days it's hard to hide how bad I get. The cracks open up a little bit more, reminders of how unfixable I am. I can call Peter and try to tell him all that I feel, but no matter how hard I try to just tell him what it's like, he just thinks I can find a way to pull through it all. That we can fix things. I'm not calling or talking to him asking him to fix everything. I just want to hear his voice. I want to hear him say I understand. I don't want any sorries or we can fix this responses. I just want an okay, I get what you're saying. 

I never thought anything could be fixed, but I've always thought things could stop getting worse. All of those times I was dead wrong, and now all I could think about hoping for, is life not continuing to get worse. And no one gets that. Everyone says I'll be happy someday. I'm tired of hearing that too. 

I wont ever be happy, but I'll always be worse, and the latter is what I don't want. I can deal with always being unhappy, but as I've said before I don't do well with things getting worse. 

After a few hours Peter finally woke up, and I followed suit. Not that I actually was able to sleep, but as they say, _You gotta fake it 'till you make it._ He sat up and I did too, along with him. And as I had assumed, the first words Peter said were-

"Are you feeling okay?"

_No, of course I'm not feeling okay. I am a horrible person and a huge waste of your time and I feel absolutely horrible about it. I don't want you to be mad at me or hurt by me or worry for me because I'm a lost cause._

"Yeah, I'm feeling a lot better."  
 _I am a really good liar. It's probably the best habit I've ever picked up._

"Good." He was rubbing my back, so unusual. "I'm glad to hear that. You didn't seem too well yesterday."

"I wasn't, and I don't know what I could ever say to you to thank you. No one is better than you." _I still feel like utter shit, but I love you. If I could only know one thing, its that I'd love you forever, because you are the only one to have ever mattered and to tell me that I was worth something. I can't really tell you because you wouldn't care, or would say I'm crazy, or even say I'm not that important. But that's okay. I knew that anyway._

More hugs. "Do you want anything to eat? Or are you not hungry or something?"

"I...I don't know. I don't think I'm hungry Peter, I don't know." I sighed into his chest. 

"Okay thats it. I've decided you have to eat. When was the last time you had eggs or bacon?"

"Uh, probably when I was ten? You don't know how to make either of those though." I giggled a little. I can't cook well but I can cook better than Peter ever could. 

"I do! Come on!" Peter huffed mockingly, and pulled me out of bed. "Aunt May taught me how."

I sat at his kitchen table as he made breakfast. There was smoke everywhere and I couldn't stop coughing. In a few minutes that dork of a pathetic chef had produced four pieces of black toast, and half overcooked yet also half uncooked eggs. 

Although it wasn't edible the slightest bit, I still managed to swallow it. I hadn't had any home made meals in years, hadn't had any meals at all for two weeks. A little water here and there but no food. When he asked when the last time I ate was I told him the truth. It upset him, I could see it plain in his eyes. 

Its hard to laugh when you're depressed.  
Its hard to smile when you're depressed.  
Its hard to get dressed when you're depressed.  
Its hard to leave bed when you're depressed.  
Its hard to wake up when you're depressed.  
Eating is the hardest thing to do of all. Its the first thing to go. Not by choice really. Because its hard to eat when you're unhappy and feel fat an worthless. Its fact. Nothing could fix that in my mind. But it pissed off other people. Peter looked distraught over the information, and it made me wish that I hadn't said anything at all. 

After eating Peter told me I had to  
Get dressed. Black V-neck and more jeans. Peter said I should dress comfier and made me wear a pair of his lounge pants. 

Him being much bigger in the hips than me, his pants barely stayed on me. I had not realized how small I had become in the past three years I've been away. It was upsetting to know that I was unhealthy. Anyone could tell that I was horribly underweight. 

I walked into his bathroom and took off my shirt. I looked in the mirror, for once noting that all of my ribs were visible. I hadn't taken the time to really look in the mirror in a long time, and if lived on the same two pairs of jeans for a long time now. They started off to tight and gradually became looser. I'd assumed it was the wash. I guess I was wrong. 

Sitting on the bathroom floor crying, I'm left wondering what has even become of myself. Not sleeping for weeks on end, drinking myself into oblivion, barely eating _if you could even use the word barely_ , destroying myself piece by piece. I wish everything would stop so I could just take a step back and sort my life out for once. I'm so tired of crying and killing myself so god damn slowly. 

_Crash like the waves against the shore_  
Brittle and ever-broken  
Downpour like the rain from where the heavens should be  
In sheets of pain and destruction 


End file.
